Late Bloomers
by SlytherinsScribe
Summary: Neville talks to his daughter as a Professor at Hogwarts, explaining how the Longbottoms are late Bloomers.


(A/N: Haven't written in a while, but this is my new head canon for Neville as a father. Also, I own nothing - broke college kid)

Abigail was about as common a girl you'd find. Light brown hair that she kept meticulously braided down her back, a pale complexion, and large brown eyes. She was shy, with no outstanding talents, or particular proclivity towards certain subjects. The only thing remarkable about her was that she was a witch, and a rather uninteresting one at that. She had shown a very mild form of magic at the age of six, and that had been brief, but enough to prove her long magical heritage.

At age eleven she sat in a compartment alone, stroking the young kitten she had been given, as her mother had, the morning she left for Hogwarts. Soon a few other first years joined her, but her quiet nature and losing the kitten twice on her journey had been met with laughter. News had gotten that she was the daughter of Professor Longbottom, which became another reason for ridicule. The professors were ready for her to take after her parents: clumsy and impossible to teach like Neville, and with weak magic as Hannah had been.

Abigail held her head high as she walked to get sorted, being sorted into Gryffindor after a slight pause. Her father beamed at her from the head table, but her house was not nearly excited for such a meek addition. The next few weeks she proved herself to exceed the expectations laid out before her - her wand work and potion making abilities were simply atrocious. Her father even admitted that her herbology skills were sadly below standard. After a month of hard work and no results coupled with teasing from the others, her sunny disposition faded and she was left wondering why she was still trying. That's when she turned to her father.

He sat her down in his office, full of photos obscured by the rare plants that littered every flat surface. She loved his office, it was earthy, better than the tower she lived in full of reckless snobs that she'd been sorted into. After serving tea, he asked her what's wrong, and the dam broke.

"I don't belong here," She held back tears as best she could, "Nobody likes me, I'm not good in my classes, I screw things up no matter how hard I try. Can't I just go home and work at the inn with mum?"

Neville smiled and dug through his photos, moving aside a plant that had sharp thorns to do so, and picked up a couple frames. Handing the smaller of the two to his daughter, he asked what she saw.

"It's a boy all alone, chasing a toad." She looked at him curiously.

"That's me my first year at Hogwarts. My Gran had asked for a photo of me an' Trevor, my toad, so I set up a camera, spelled it to take the picture, and Trevor escaped. It took me a full hour to capture Trevor again," He smiled, "I didn't really have friends, I was always losing my stuff, and as long as I was taking potions, professor Snape yelled at me on a regular basis, and you know what I did?"

"Gave up?" She questioned.

"No, Abigail. I never did. Giving up means you've let the others win. I stuck out the abuse, and the failure, and not fitting in, and being made fun of for obsessing over my plants, which still happens today," He chuckled looking at the room around him, "But it didn't last forever."

Abigail looked at the next photo he handed her, it was of a group in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Head Mistress McGonagall, Harry and Ginny Potter, Ron and Hermione Weasley with their family, Neville, Luna and a few faces that she didn't recognize.

"That was after the Battle of Hogwarts, where they took a photo of the main fighters. I had been helping heal the wounded using herbs in the greenhouses when they pulled me over to get in the photo because I was apparently a war hero," He put his hand on her knee, "Abi, you come from a long line of witches and wizards who, like me, came into their true power later in life. I went from being the worst student in school to being a war hero my seventh year. We Longbottoms bloom late, but I've done my research, and the late bloomers are always the most beautiful flowers. So stay strong, because one day you'll find what you were meant to do, and you'll be the best."


End file.
